The Final Girl Support Group by Grady Hendrix

 

Synopsis From Dust Jacket:

In horror movies, the final girl is the one who's left standing when the credits roll. The one who fought back, defeated the killer, and avenged her friends. The one who emerges bloodied but victorious. But after the sirens fade and the audience moves on, what happens to her?

Lynette Tarkington is a real-life final girl who survived a massacre twenty-two years ago, and it has defined every day of her life since. And she's not alone. For more than a decade she's been meeting with five other actual final girls and their therapists in a support group for those who survived the unthinkable, putting their lives back together, piece by piece. That is until one of the women misses a meeting and Lynette's worst fears are realized—someone knows about the group and is determined to take their lives apart, piece by piece. 

But the thing about these final girls is that they have each other now, and no matter how bad the odds, how dark the night, how sharp the knife, they will never, ever give up. 

The very first movie I remember seeing in a theater was Dawn of the Dead. My mom loved it, so when it was rereleased years later, she took me along. I saw Creepshow at the drive-in, but had to turn around and watch The Sword in the Stone on another screen during one particular scene that will remain unspoken.

I grew up on horror: Children of the Corn, Friday the 13th, A Nightmare on Elm Street, Halloween. These weren’t just movies, they were lessons in survival, in what it means to be the one who makes it out. One of the first movies I saw on my own was Bad Dreams, and that giant fan scene has lived rent-free in my brain ever since, a moment I still haven’t quite shaken.

I’m laying all of this out so you understand exactly where I’m coming from. I loved The Final Girl Support Group.

This book reads like the twisted sequel to every slasher I’ve ever seen — not the movies themselves, but what happens after the credits roll. The five women at its center survived everything the genre throws at you: summer camp massacres, sorority house bloodbaths, a home invasion that wiped out an entire family, miles of road turned into a moving nightmare. And then there’s Lynette — the book’s version of Laurie Strode — a woman shaped by a killer who tore through her town and left her to live in the aftermath. If you’ve seen the recent Halloween trilogy, you already understand what that kind of survival does to a person.

In the wrong hands, this could have been a straightforward slasher novel, something predictable, something easy to put down. In the hands of Grady Hendrix, it becomes something sharper and more deliberate. He shifts the focus from the violence itself to what lingers after it, memory, damage, and the way the past refuses to stay buried.

Because if horror teaches you anything, it’s that the past is never really dead.

Challenges: Cloak and Dagger 

Trust: America's Best Chance by Pete Buttigieg

 

Synopsis From Dust Jacket:

Trust is essential to the foundation of America’s democracy, asserts Pete Buttigieg, the former presidential candidate and South Bend mayor. Yet, in a century warped by terrorism, financial collapse, Trumpist populism, systemic racism, and now a global pandemic, trust has been squandered, sacrificed, abused, stolen, or never properly built in the first place. And now, more so than ever before, Americans must work side by side to reckon with the monumental challenges posed by our present moment.

Interweaving history, political philosophy, and affecting passages of memoir, Buttigieg explores the strong relationship between measures of prosperity and levels of social trust. He provides an impassioned account of a threefold crisis of trust: in our institutions, in each other, and in the American project itself. Today, these perilous patterns of distrust have wreaked havoc on nearly every sector of society, as Americans increasingly resent the very government that needs to be part of the solution. With the internet and partisan television networks acting as accelerants, Americans jettison any sense of shared reality, lose confidence in experts and scientists, and cope with the grim national tragedy of a pandemic that has only further exemplified the lethality of distrust.

Buttigieg contends that our success, or failure, at confronting the greatest challenges of the decade―racial and economic justice, pandemic resilience, and climate action―will rest on whether we can effectively cultivate, deepen, and, where necessary, repair the networks of trust that are now endangered, or for so many, have never even existed.

I’ve admired Pete Buttigieg for quite a while now, and reading Trust only deepened that admiration. During his presidential campaign, he and his husband Chasten carried themselves with a level of dignity and respect that often feels rare in modern politics. Even in a very intense national spotlight, they remained gracious, grounded, and consistently decent. As a gay man, that meant a lot to me then, and it still does now.

What stands out most in Trust is how clearly Buttigieg explains the growing crisis of mistrust in our institutions — and how complicated the reasons for that mistrust actually are. He writes about the erosion of confidence in government, the news media, and other institutions that shape our public life, and he does so thoughtfully rather than defensively. If I’m being honest, it’s one of the most balanced discussions of the issue I’ve read, and that approach really resonated with me.

He is also careful to acknowledge that mistrust didn’t simply appear out of nowhere. In many cases it was earned — particularly among marginalized communities that have historically been excluded, ignored, or even harmed by the very institutions now asking for their trust. At the same time, he addresses the rise of purposeful misinformation and how it has deepened existing fractures. In many ways, that deliberate misinformation feels like pouring gasoline on a fire that was already burning.

When I finished Trust, I felt that the problem he describes is serious but not hopeless. Buttigieg clearly believes our democratic institutions are worth repairing, and I appreciated his willingness to engage the issue directly. The country could use more leaders willing to do that — and honestly, I’m begging him to run for president again someday.

Midnight Lace (1960)

 

Synopsis From Rotten Tomatoes:

When the American wife of a wealthy London-based financier starts receiving frightening phone calls, she believes her life is in danger, but when she protests to her family following a near-fatal accident, they and the police doubt her claims and even her sanity. 

I'm not sure when I first watched Midnight Lace, but the scene with Doris Day in a fog-filled park while an invisible stalker whispers death threats stayed with me for years. It's one of those scenes that sends chills up your spine, and Doris Day absolutely sold me on her fear and panic as her life was being threatened.

As a kid, I grew up on the Doris Day and Rock Hudson movies, so I wasn't expecting her performance as a woman whose life is slowly unraveling to be so captivating, as I had prejudged the type of actress she was based on my limited knowledge of her. She was mesmerizing — just staying this side of paranoid madness.

The supporting cast is just as good — but what would you expect from Rex Harrison, an actor who can swing between hero and villain effortlessly? Watching Myrna Loy as Aunt Bea reminds me of just how little the studios made use of her gifts as she aged. She was brilliant in the 1930s, and she was just as good here, albeit in a much smaller role than she deserved. John Gavin, despite his politics, was a talented actor who drew an audience in and never let them go. I'm pretty sure it had just as much to do with his good looks as it did with his talent — he was always easy on the eyes. His performance in Midnight Lace as the man who swoops in and saves the day could give some of our current action heroes a point or two.

If you've had the pleasure of watching Grace Kelly in Dial M for Murder or Barbara Stanwyck in Sorry, Wrong Number — two of my favorite movies — it's not hard to guess who's behind the murderous scheme. But don't let that stop you from watching Midnight Lace — it's a thrilling romp through the streets of London, and Doris Day proves she was more than a brilliant romcom actress. It's just sad that she didn't do more movies like this, because I would have become just as addicted to them as I am to this one.

The Body in the Library by Agatha Christie

 

Synopsis From Dust Jacket: 

Colonel and Mrs. Bantry are shocked when they wake up one morning to find the dead body of a young platinum blonde on the floor of their library. Nobody in the village of St. Mary Mead seems to know who she is, but everyone has a theory about the crime. The ensuing investigation follows a twisted trail from the quiet village to an upscale hotel in the nearby town of Danemouth, where the victim worked as a ballroom dancer and bridge hostess. As the local inspectors sift through emerging clues to identify a suspect, Miss Jane Marple, St. Mary Meade's resident sleuth, always seems to be one step ahead of them. 

First of all, forgive the slightly askew book cover — I love this edition far too much not to use it. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t manage to take a perfectly lined-up photo of it, and eventually I decided close was good enough. 

If I’m remembering correctly, I haven’t reread The Body in the Library in ten or twenty years, so it’s been a while since I’ve spent time with this convoluted caper. It had been long enough that I found myself genuinely surprised by the fiendish little scheme Miss Marple exposed. While I remembered the mastermind behind the murder, I had completely forgotten how it was accomplished, so I took great delight in letting Miss Marple fill in the blanks for me all over again.

Agatha Christie had a mind like no other. She gives you every clue you need and then buries them in just enough distraction to make you doubt your own intelligence. Somehow, when the final reveal arrives, you don’t feel tricked — you feel outmatched. That balance is precisely why she has been my favorite author since I was given two of her books for Christmas in the fifth grade.

I do wish Miss Marple were a little more at the forefront in this one. Too much of the story belongs to the professional inspectors and not quite enough to her quiet deductions. But that’s a normal reaction for me — I almost always want more Miss Marple in her books and less Hercule Poirot in his. I suppose I’ve always enjoyed the old lady with a knitting basket more than a man who refers to himself in the third person.

Challenges: Cloak and Dagger, Mount TBR

The Taking of Jake Livingston by Ryan Douglass

 

Synopsis From Dust Jacket:

Living in two worlds is exhausting, and no one knows this better than sixteen-year-old Jake Livingston. His working-class, diverse neighborhood is a far cry from the world of St. Clair Prep where he is one of the only Black students, constantly at the mercy of racist teachers and peers who don't understand him. But when his neighbor—a survivor of a grisly school shooting—is murdered and the bloody initials of the now-dead shooter, Sawyer Doom, are left on the entryway wall of Jake's home. Jake is forced to confront another world he wishes he could escape—the world of the dead.

As a medium, Jake sees ghosts around him all the time. Most are harmless. Stuck in their death loops as they relive their deaths over and over again, they rarely interact with people. And while for most of his life Jake has avoided them, this time there is no running away. Sawyer was a troubled teen who shot and killed six kids at a local high school before taking his own life. Now he's a powerful, vengeful ghost, and he has plans for his afterlife—plans thay include Jake. When Sawyer begins stalking him, high school becomes a different kind of survival game—one Jake is not sure he can win. 

I’ve hemmed and hawed for far longer than I should have — I’m talking months — over how I wanted to start this review. Even now, as I’m typing, I feel like someone flipping through every streaming app they own, unable to settle on something to watch. I guess I’m just going to start typing and see what comes out. If I need to clean it up later, I will. It’s not like y’all will be able to tell the difference.

I absolutely love this book and think everyone who is even a little into YA should read it — if you’re comfortable with the themes it explores. The Taking of Jake Livingston ventures into very dark territory, and I’m not exaggerating when I say certain aspects of the narrative have stayed with me far longer than usual. That lingering weight is part of the reason I’ve had such a damned hard time writing this review. I think it’s impossible to talk about this book without discussing the gut punch that is Sawyer Doom, so I hope you’ll stick with me.

When I reviewed Come Knocking by Mike Bockoven, I discussed how the author had to strike a balance between showing us why the killer felt justified in doing something so barbaric and horrifying, without actually excusing or agreeing with him. That same balance had to be struck in The Taking of Jake Livingston by Ryan Douglass, and I think he handled it brilliantly — though perhaps with a bit more detail than I was expecting.

Instead of giving us a “manifesto” at the end of the book, Douglass lets us into Sawyer’s head throughout the story, as he relives the relentless abuse and bullying he endured for years. Those sections are not comfortable to read. I felt for this young man — no one should have to live through what he did. I can’t imagine the pain and anger that must have flowed through that boy’s veins. Where Douglass surpasses Bockoven, in my opinion, is that by allowing us into Sawyer’s head — the head of an evil, vengeful ghost — he removes any ambiguity. Whatever sympathy we might begin with hardens into horror and hatred as Sawyer torments Jake. Douglass does not shy away from making him as hate-filled and monstrous as any character I’ve read in a long time. By the end of this book, you will loathe Sawyer as much as you adore Jake.

I dare anyone to read this novel and not take an instant liking to Jake. He faces his own bullying, and while it makes him withdrawn and awkward at times, he never turns that pain outward onto others. He’s too busy trying to survive his day-to-day life. How anyone could cope with that — on top of the ability to see dead people — is beyond me. The inner strength that would require is admirable, and I’m not sure I could handle it half as well as Jake does.

Though he’s forced to confront Sawyer, Jake — with the emotional support of his family and friends, including a possible new boyfriend — faces it head-on. He doesn’t come out unscathed, but he may have just found a new version of himself in the process.

At its heart, this is a story built on contrast — two young men faced with unimaginable pain. Both are bullied. Both are isolated. Both are shaped by cruelty. But only one chooses to rise above it. Only one chooses to protect rather than harm.

And it’s in that contrast that this story has stayed with me, lingering far longer than I ever expected.

Eight Perfect Murders by Peter Swanson

Synopsis From Dust Jacket:

Years ago, bookseller and mystery aficionado Malcolm Kershaw compiled a list of the genre’s most unsolvable murders—which he titled “Eight Perfect Murders”—chosen from among the best of the best, including Agatha Christie’s A. B. C. Murders, Patricia Highsmith’s Strangers on a Train, and Ira Levin’s Death Trap. 

But no one is more surprised than Mal, now the owner of the Old Devils Bookstore in Boston, when an FBI agent comes knocking on his door one snowy day in February. She’s looking for information about a series of unsolved murders that look eerily similar to the killings on Mal’s old list. And the agent isn’t the only one interested in this bookseller who spends almost every night at home reading. The killer is out there, watching his every move—a diabolical threat who knows way too much about Mal’s personal history, especially the secrets he’s never told anyone, even his recently deceased wife.

To protect himself, Mal begins looking into possible suspects . . . and sees a killer in everyone around him. But Mal doesn’t count on the investigation leaving a trail of death in its wake. Suddenly, a series of shocking twists leaves more victims dead—and the noose around Mal’s neck grows so tight he might never escape.

Malcolm is another of those characters I relish spending time with. This was my third visit to the Old Devils Bookstore, and like the first two times, I found myself wanting to settle into a comfortable chair with one of my favorite mysteries, the shop cat Nero purring away in my lap, and spend the day visiting with Mal as he works between customers. He has an aura about him that I find oddly comforting, and I can easily imagine us becoming fast friends. The fact that he’s about as unreliable as any narrator can be just makes me love him more.

I’m a sucker for unreliable narrators, and Mal does not disappoint. Spending extended time with him lets you know the man has secrets. You may not know what those secrets are — or just how painful they might be — but it’s clear that everything is not right in his world.

I’m not sure how much of my love for this book comes from my genuine fondness for Mal or from the way Peter Swanson weaves a deep love and respect for the Golden Age of classic mysteries into a tale of faulty memories, buried secrets, and a few “perfect” murders thrown in for good measure. Either way, it’s a story anchored by a character I thoroughly enjoy — one I’m sure I’ll be visiting again and again in the years to come.

Challenges: Calendar of Crime, Cloak and Dagger 

Theme Music by T. Marie Vandelly

 

Synopsis From Dust Jacket: 

For the lucky among us, life is what you make of it, but for Dixie Wheeler, the theme music for her story was chosen by another long ago, on the day her father butchered her mother and brothers and then slashed a knife across his own throat. Only one-year-old Dixie was left alive, infamously known as Baby Blue for the song left playing in the aftermath of the slaughter.

Twenty-five years later, Dixie is still desperate for a connection to the family she can’t remember, so when her childhood home goes up for sale, Dixie sets aside all reason and moves in. But as the ghosts of her family seemingly begin to take up residence in the home that was once theirs, Dixie starts to question her own sanity and wonders if the evil force menacing her is that of her father, or a demon of her own making.

In order to make sense of her present, Dixie becomes determined to unravel the truth of her past and seeks out the detective who originally investigated the murders. But the more she learns, the more she opens up the uncomfortable possibility that the sins of her father may belong to another. As bodies begin to pile up around her, Dixie must find a way to expose the lunacy behind her family’s massacre in order to save her few loved ones who are still alive—and whatever scrap of sanity she has left. 

How could anyone read that synopsis and not want to dive right in? Granted, it’s one of those synopses that might be just a tad long, but no matter how many times I read it, I can’t decide which lines I would cut. It’s a synopsis designed to make you want to read the book — and read it I did.

Dixie is one of those characters who, no matter how much she annoyed me at times, I still found myself caring for. I think it’s fair to say she makes horrible decisions. I mean, who moves into the house where their family was slaughtered? Well, Trevor did it in Drawing Blood by Poppy Z. Brite, one of my favorite books of all time — but that’s literally another story, so pretend I didn’t say anything about it. Dixie not only moves into this house, she ends her relationship to do it, and then starts decorating the house to make it look the way it did when her family was butchered. I think sanity is the least of her worries.

Dixie’s descent into an almost fugue-like state of madness is so gorgeously written that at no point was I able to look away or pretend that what I was reading was anything other than the story of a woman slowly coming apart, obsessing over her family’s horrific deaths. She was so lost in the minutiae of what happened that she — like me — didn’t really see the truth before it slammed into her face. I can only hope that now that she’s discovered the truth and faced it head-on, she’ll truly heal and be able to put the past, and her family, behind her.

What Moves the Dead by T. Kingfisher

 

Synopsis From Dust Jacket:

When Alex Easton, a retired soldier, receives word that their childhood friend Madeline Usher is dying, they race to the ancestral home of the Ushers in the remote countryside of Ruritania.

What they find there is a nightmare of fungal growths and possessed wildlife, surrounding a dark, pulsing lake. Madeline sleepwalks and speaks in strange voices at night, and her brother, Roderick, is consumed by a mysterious malady of the nerves. 

Aided by a redoubtable British mycologist and a baffled American doctor, Alex must unravel the secret of the House of Usher before it consumes them all. 

Apparently, despite my intentions to read more of the bazillion unread stories that have been languishing on my shelves, some for years, I’ve been more inclined to pick up old favorites. Visiting old friends, spending time in their company, has a soothing effect, and with all the chaos engulfing us right now, I need the comfort those old friends can provide.

Alex is one of those characters I can see myself being friends with. I can imagine the two of us in a darkened home library, the fireplace roaring as Alex regales me with tales of their past exploits. There would be a table set with tea, and we would talk late into the night. I just wouldn’t want that library to be in the Ushers’ ancestral home.

What Moves the Dead is a story that burrowed under my skin, flooding my system with its miasmatic spores until I felt as if my lungs were filled with a wiggling fungal infection, one that threatened to turn me into that nightmarish hare on the cover. It’s a story so steeped in mycological nightmares that once I walked through those doors, I felt just as doomed as Madeline and Roderick. Kingfisher’s prose is as enthralling as it is horrific. She weaves a tale I never wanted to end—even if I desperately wanted Alex and their friends out of it.

N or M? by Agatha Christie

 

Synopsis From Back Cover:

It is World War II, and while the RAF struggles to keep the Luftwaffe at bay, Britain faces an even more sinister threat from “the enemy within”—Nazis posing as ordinary citizens.

With pressure mounting, the intelligence service appoints two unlikely spies, Tommy and Tuppence Beresford. Their mission: to seek out a man and a woman from among the colorful guests at Sans Souci, a seaside hotel. But this assignment is no stroll along the promenade—N and M have just murdered Britain’s finest agent and no one can be trusted...

I fell in love with Agatha Christie in the fifth grade. By then, I had torn through every Encyclopedia Brown, Nancy Drew, and Hardy Boys book I could get my tiny—but growing—hands on. I was firmly hooked on mysteries and constantly on the lookout for something new. That Christmas, I received two of her books, The Mirror Crack’d from Side to Side and The A.B.C. Murders, and I devoured them both in short order. She has remained my favorite author ever since, and when I first started this blog, I challenged myself to read all of her books in publishing order. It’s high time I got back to it.

This is going to be a very short review, because I don’t have a lot to say. While I will always choose an Agatha Christie novel over most modern mysteries, they don’t all work equally well for me. I thoroughly enjoy Tommy and Tuppence as characters; I’ve just never been the biggest fan of espionage stories, even when they’re written by Agatha Christie. As always, her plotting is damn near perfect, and no matter how often I read her, I’m still surprised by how she layers details—letting them build on one another and painting a picture that never fails to entertain me. I’m just not as entertained by spies as I am by good old-fashioned murders.

Still, I loved diving back into her work again. Agatha Christie remains one of my literary happy places, and I’m excited to spend the coming year working my way through her books once more. They may not all be favorites, but Christie is still Christie—and that’s more than enough for me.

Challenges: Mount TBR, Cloak and Dagger 

Red Rabbit Ghost by Jen Julian

 

Synopsis From Back Cover:

Eighteen years ago, an infant Jesse Calloway was found wailing on the bank of a river, his mother dead beside him. The mystery of her death has haunted him all his life, and despite every effort, he has never been able to uncover the truth. 

Now someone is promising him answers. An anonymous source claims that they'll tell him everything. But only if he returns to the hometown he swore he'd left in the rearview. 

But in Blacknot, North Carolina, nothing is as it seems. It's a town that buries its secrets deep. Jesse's relentless investigation garners attraction from intimidating locals, including his dangerous ex-boyfriend. And he'll soon discover that this backwater town hides a volatile and haunting place on its desolate edge.

I picked this up off a table at our west side Barnes & Noble, and I knew in less than a minute that it was coming home with me. The cover alone is worth the purchase, but then I read the synopsis—and really, who doesn’t love a good queer, haunted-house, Southern Gothic tale? That was all she wrote. I got suckered into buying another book when I already own far too many that are still waiting to be read. Now that I’ve read it, some of that initial luster has faded a bit, but I’m still fricking glad I experienced this one for myself.

I’m going to start off by saying that Jen Julian’s prose is a pleasure to read. It’s lush and evocative, creating characters and landscapes that have been lingering in my mind for days. With her words, she painted Blacknot, NC into vivid life. I experienced the putrid smell of the congested pig farms and felt the spongy give of rotting floorboards as Jesse explored the rooms of the Night House. I felt the desperation and rage Alice experienced as she watched her world crumble around her. The fetid smell and cloying humidity of the swamp clung to my skin and seeped into my lungs. Red Rabbit Ghost is a fever dream that unmercifully assaults the senses, and I was there for every second of it.

And yet, as much as I loved feeling like I was there with Jesse and Alice, that may be part of the reason I didn’t fully connect with the story as a whole. I need to phrase this next part as carefully as I can, so bear with me—I may ramble a bit. The landscape of this nightmarish world, full of ghosts and magic, felt so tangible that I think it may have gotten in the way of making the characters feel just as real. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed the time I spent with Jesse, but the frantic pace he kept—trying to find his mom and uncover what happened to her—didn’t allow who he was as a person to come to the forefront. He felt two-dimensional for most of the book, and I hate that for him. He deserved to feel as real as the world he inhabited.

Alice, for the most part, was so full of rage and hurt that, despite the amount of page time she had, she never felt fully real to me at any point in the story. That leaves the side characters—including the ex-boyfriend I wanted dumped in the swamp for the alligators to feed on—who I can only describe as storytelling props. They were there, they did the narrative jobs they were written to do, but they felt more like NPCs in a random, generic video game.

Now, based on the length of that last section, you might think I didn’t enjoy this book as much as I did—but you’d be wrong. While Blacknot, NC isn’t a place I’d ever want to experience in the real world, I loved the time I spent with Jesse as he navigated dirt roads, swampy backwoods, and the Night House in search of the truth. It’s just not a story I feel compelled to revisit anytime soon.

Challenges: Mount TBR

Libeled Lady (1936)

Synopsis From Rotten Tomatoes:

When a major newspaper accuses wealthy socialite Connie Allenbury (Myrna Loy) of being a homewrecker, and she files a multi-million-dollar libel lawsuit, the publication's frazzled head editor, Warren Haggerty (Spencer Tracy), must find a way to turn the tables on her. Soon Haggerty's harried fiancée, Gladys Benton (Jean Harlow), and his dashing friend Bill Chandler (William Powell) are in on a scheme that aims to discredit Connie, with amusing and unexpected results. 

There are few on-screen pairings that will ever come close to the chemistry shared between William Powell and Myrna Loy. Watching the way they play off each other is almost a cinematic religious experience. I remember the first time I watched The Thin Man (1934) and how utterly enchanted I was by them. I was so enchanted, in fact, that I immediately went out and bought The Thin Man box set, which included all six films. When I finished those, I went on to watch all fourteen movies Powell and Loy made together between 1934 and 1947. That’s the kind of hold they have on me.

Their wit and playful banter are in full display in Libeled Lady (1936), a classic screwball comedy with romantic hijinks thrown in for good measure. It’s a fast-paced romp packed with more marriages than you can count, a barrage of one-liners flying through the air like heat-seeking missiles, and a fishing scene that has me laughing so loudly I’m convinced they can hear me seven counties over.

The chemistry between Powell and Loy is already a force to be reckoned with, but when you add Jean Harlow and Spencer Tracy into the mix, it becomes something truly special. The four of them work so effortlessly together that it’s no surprise Libeled Lady earned a Best Picture nomination, ultimately losing to The Great Ziegfeld—another William Powell and Myrna Loy film, no less.

The pace of the movie is exactly why this review is going to be short on specifics and heavy on demands that you go watch it for yourself. I’m struggling to single out moments without giving anything away, and this is very much a movie best experienced firsthand. If for no other reason, watch it to see William Powell and Myrna Loy at the absolute peak of their powers. You won’t regret it.

Murder Most Haunted by Emma Mason

 

Synopsis From Back Cover:

On her last day as a Detective, Midge McGowan is given the retirement present from hell: a ticket to a haunted house tour. She’ll have to spend the weekend before Christmas ghost-hunting in an isolated mansion with a group of misfits, including a know-it-all paranormal investigator and a has-been pop star.

The guests soon realize that the house has a mind of its own... and that they might not be the only ones there. An eerie figure appears on the property, and then the unthinkable happens: someone is murdered in a room that's been locked from the inside.

When a blizzard cuts the group off from help, the house’s own dark secrets begin to surface, and Midge can’t shake the creeping sense that they are walking into a nightmare. Could a ghost really be responsible? Or is the culprit one of the guests, who have somehow, impossibly, endeared themselvesto Midge?

Because I’m still not entirely sure whether I liked this book or not, this may end up being a rather short—and possibly a little rambling—review. Reading Murder Most Haunted was an odd experience.

The first half of the book was a slog. Honestly, if I hadn’t needed this one for a couple of reading challenges, I might not have pushed myself through it. Our lead detective is, at least initially, a deeply miserable character. She reads as someone so unhappy in every aspect of her life that it robs her of any personality beyond what is imposed upon her by others in her life. It’s the kind of unhappiness that becomes such a dominant part of who a person is that Midge starts off feeling less like a fully realized human being and more like an automaton moving through the motions of life.

She has quirks, but early on they come across as just further evidence of how damaged she is. The old adage “misery loves company” pretty much sums up my first impressions of the rest of the cast as well. I didn’t like a single one of them at the beginning, and I found myself quietly hoping that more than one body might turn up.

Gradually, though, something shifted. I’m not entirely sure if the book itself started to grow on me, if the characters became more fleshed out and likable, or if I simply acclimated to its tone. Whatever the reason, as I kept reading, Midge began to make more sense. Her quirks and worldview gained context, and I stopped seeing her as a caricature and started seeing her as a woman who’d been dealt a truly shitty hand in life and did the best she could with what she had at the time.

I’m still not sure I like her, but by the end I had more respect for her—especially once the murderer was revealed.

As for the mystery itself, it was… fine. I’m a sucker for a locked-room murder, and I think the author did a reasonably solid job constructing this one. I don’t see myself rereading this book, but I would be willing to pick up a second Midge installment—provided the podcaster and the pop star come along for the ride.

Challenges: Mount TBR, Cloak and Dagger, Calendar of Crime 

Nothing But Blackened Teeth by Cassandra Khaw

 

Synopsis From Dust Jacket:

A Heian-era mansion stands abandoned, its foundations resting on the bones of a bride and its walls packed with the remains of the girls sacrificed to keep her company.

It’s the perfect wedding venue for a group of thrill-seeking friends brought back together to celebrate a wedding. 

But a night of food, drinks, and games quickly spirals into a nightmare as secrets getbdrwgged out and relationships are tested. 

But the house has secrets too. Lurking in the shadows is the ghost bride with a black smile and a hungry heart.

And she gets lonely down there in the dirt.

I don’t say this often—or lightly—but Nothing But Blackened Teeth is one of those books you are either going to love with everything in you, or loathe with your entire soul. I’ve seen no middle ground on this one, and sadly, those who hate it seem to be in the majority.

I personally find the hate this book receives to be undeserved. I fall firmly into the camp that absolutely adores this 124-page novella with every fiber of my being. When I decided to give this a reread a few days ago, I went back and looked at the short little review I typed up on Goodreads the first time around. I loved it so much that I said it belonged alongside The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson, Hell House by Richard Matheson, and Drawing Blood by Poppy Z. Brite. After this reread, I stand by that.

When I read this for the first time, I experienced an author who truly loves language—the way words feel as you take them in, one after the other, as they lodge themselves into the nooks and crannies of your mind. There is a rhythmic flow to Khaw’s writing as she chooses words and then plays with the way they connect to one another. I think the reason I love this book as much as I do is because this gorgeous writing wraps itself around a group of petty, spiteful, deeply unlikable characters who have no business being friends, let alone gathering together to explore a haunted house and a culture they have no respect for—an experience not all of them will survive. The contrast is so stark that I can’t help but be completely enthralled by it.

While I’m on the subject of language, I want to briefly mention how much I appreciate the seamless way Khaw incorporates Japanese without feeling the need to translate or explain every word outside of the natural context already provided. All too often, those explanations pull me right out of the story, and I’m grateful that never happens here.

I don’t know how often I’ll pull this off the shelf to revisit this beautifully written piece of horror, but I do know that when I do, I’ll embrace the experience and happily lose myself in the ebbs and flows of the prose as I once again walk the halls of that house.

Binge Watch --- The Mentalist

 

The Mentalist was another one of those shows I stopped watching during my years-long TV hiatus. Honestly, I’m not even sure I would have finished the series had I not taken that break. By that point, I was already exhausted by the Red John storyline, which felt like it would never end. I don’t mind a long through line, but eventually it needs to end. And the way they finally wrapped it up felt so ridiculously contrived that I was ready to pack it in altogether.

What stopped me was Simon Baker. His portrayal of Patrick Jane was so damn compelling that I was loath to say goodbye. Walking away from the character for good just didn’t sit right with me, so I was determined to stick with it. And then one day, I simply stopped turning the TV on—unless it was to watch a movie, either something I owned or whatever was on TCM.

Which brings us to this recent binge rewatch, where I finally found out how it all ended. Part of me really enjoyed spending time again with Patrick and the rest of the CBI team—especially Cho. I had completely forgotten just how adorable he is, albeit in that wonderfully stoic way. Patrick was just as charming as ever, and how anyone can resist that little half-smile of his is beyond me. It’s honestly unfathomable that Simon Baker didn’t land another big, long-running show after this. Maybe I should start a petition to bring him back to our screens.

As for the cases themselves, when they didn’t involve Red John, I enjoyed them for the most part. When Red John did show up, I found myself even more annoyed this time around. Maybe that’s residual irritation from my first watch, but dear lord, that storyline did not need to be dragged out into the sixth season. It should have ended after the third—at the latest.

That said, while the Red John resolution mostly made sense to me, the later decision to shuffle half the main cast over to the FBI just didn’t work. It wasn’t what I wanted for these characters, and part of me wishes I’d stopped watching at that point. I still enjoyed my time with Patrick, Cho, and Lisbon, but the show never quite regained its sense of cohesion after that shift. And don’t even get me started on the forced romance—Booth and Bones, they are not.

All that said, I do want to give the writers their due. The mythology of the show—including Red John—was carefully constructed, and they introduced recurring characters years in advance, laying groundwork that paid off much later. That takes real skill. Even when I didn’t enjoy the direction of certain storylines, they rarely missed a beat or flubbed a connection. The casting of those characters was also spot-on: Malcolm McDowell, Morena Baccarin, Pedro Pascal, Leslie Hope, and Reed Diamond amongst them—not a single wasted actor in the bunch.

While I’m glad I spent 151 episodes with Patrick Jane and finally saw how his story wrapped up, this isn’t a show I feel the need to revisit. I love so much of it, but the elements that frustrate me really frustrate me—and I don’t think I’m willing to put myself through that again.

Mirage City by Lev AC Rosen

 

Synopsis From Dust Jacket:

Private Investigator Evander “Andy” Mills’ next case takes him out of his comfort zone in San Francisco—and much to his dismay, back home to Los Angeles. After a secretive queer rights organization called the Mattachine Society enlists Andy to find some missing members, he must dodge not only motorcycle gangs and mysterious forces, but his own mother, too. 

Avoiding her proves to be a challenge when the case leads Andy to the psychological clinic she works at. Worlds collide, buried secrets are dug up, and Andy realizes he’s going to have to burn it all down this time if he wants to pull off a rescue. With secret societies, drugs, and doctors swirling around him, time is running out for Andy to locate the missing and get them to safety. And for him to make it back to San Francisco in one piece.

I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this before, but for the last four years I’ve started the new year with Andy. Lavender House was my first book of 2023, The Bell in the Fog kicked off 2024, Rough Pages started 2025, and now Mirage City is my first book of 2026. I hesitate to call it a ritual, but I’m not sure what else to call it. Habit? Tradition? Compulsion feels a little dramatic—but honestly, my reading year wouldn’t feel right without Andy, Gene, Lee, and Elise being the first characters I spend time with. It feels like coming home.

I’m not going to recap the plot, mostly because the synopsis already does a solid job. What I do want to talk about is Andy himself. I love watching him work a case. As this series has gone on, Andy has grown—not just as a detective, but as a queer man learning how to love himself and figure out where he fits in the community around him. He was always smart, always observant, but there’s a deeper sense of compassion and justice in how he approaches his work now. That growth feels earned, and it’s one of the reasons I keep coming back to this series.

I went back and forth for a while about how much I wanted to say about some of the themes Mirage City tackles. At one point, I had several long paragraphs written about conversion therapy and the ways our community has been brutalized and killed in the name of “curing” us—aversion therapy, forced commitments to asylums, chemical castration, electric shocks, lobotomies, all of it. This wasn’t ancient history. This happened to boys barely in their teens, and it’s still within living memory. In some forms, it’s still happening today.

Since this is a book review and not a queer history lesson, I’ll spare you all of that—but I think it’s important to say that the weight of that history is very much present in this story.

And honestly, that’s one of the many reasons I love this series so much. Lev AC Rosen has an incredible way of weaving queer history into his mysteries without ever making it feel like a lecture. For example, I’ve known about the Mattachine Society for years, but I didn’t know that the oldest continuously active queer organization is actually a biker gang called the Satyrs. That kind of detail matters. Our history isn’t taught in schools—if anything, it’s erased or glossed over—so I’m always grateful to authors who find ways to pass it along through fiction. So much of who we are as a community was shaped by that history, whether we realize it or not. 

I do want to be clear, though: Mirage City isn’t a heavy, joyless read. The themes are serious, but they never overwhelm the story or the characters. At its heart, this is a well-crafted mystery set in the 1950s that’s just as much about perseverance, self-acceptance, found family, and love as it is about crime. It’s another reminder of why starting my year with Andy feels so right—and why I already know I’ll be doing it again.

Challenges: Mount TBR, Cloak & Dagger 

The Christmas Guest by Peter Swanson

Synopsis From Dust Jacket:

Ashley Smith, and American art student in London for her junior year, was planning on spending Christmas alon, but a last-minute invitation-only fellow student Emma Chapman brings her to Starvewood Hall, country residence of the Chapman family. The Cotswold manor, festooned with pine boughs and crammed with guests for Christmas week, is a dream come true for Ashley. She is not only mesmerized by the cozy, firelit house, the large family, and the charming village of Clevemoor, but also by Adam Chapman, Emma's aloof and handsome brother. 

But Adam is being investigated by the local police over the recent brutal slaying of a girl from the village, and there is a mysterious stranger who haunts the woodland path between Starvewood Hall and the local pub. Ashley begins to wonder what kind of story she is actually inhabiting. Is she in a grand romance? A gothic tale? Or has she wandered into something far more sinister and terrifying than she'd ever imagined? 

Over thirty years later the events of that horrific week are revisited, along with a diary from that time. What began in a small English village in 1989 reaches its ghostly conclusion in modern-day New York, many Christmas seasons later.

I had resigned myself to not completing my commitment to read five or six Christmas-themed books for the Yuletide Spirit reading challenge. I was okay with it. I read four solid Christmas romances and enjoyed them, even if I never got to the stack of mysteries I bought specifically for the season.

Then, while reorganizing one of the bookcases in my bedroom, I was struck by an epiphany sent by the Icelandic Christmas spirits.

Okay, not really—but I did find my copy of The Christmas Guest, a short novella by Peter Swanson, that I bought the year before, shelved, and promptly forgot about until I stumbled across it during my spontaneous bookcase cleaning on Sunday. This was exactly what I needed to complete the challenge. I may have even done the Snoopy dance, if only in my head. As soon as I finished my chores, I hopped onto my bed and promptly read all ninety-six pages.

I absolutely loved Eight Perfect Murders (another book I’ll now get to write a review of at some point), to the point that it was one of my favorite books of 2020. Normally, when I love a book that much, I tear through the author’s backlist and keep up with their new releases as they’re published. For whatever reason, I never really did that with Peter Swanson. I don’t know if it was because none of the synopses grabbed me, or if his books were competing with others I was more excited about at the time. Either way, I didn’t pick up another one of his books until I bought The Christmas Guest last Christmas season. After reading this, his other books may stay on the back burner a bit longer.

I’m not entirely sure why I didn’t fully connect with the story as it unfolded. It could be as simple as the length not allowing me to become fully invested in Ashley. Most of the story is told through her diary entries from her time in the house, and like most diaries (my own journals included) from the college years, those entries can be annoying, shrill, delusional, angsty, repetitive, and about a dozen other adjectives that would be just as accurate.

It could also be that the twists were a little obvious. After reading two of his stories, I can tell Swanson shares my enjoyment of unreliable narratives, though this novella puts its own spin on that trope. For me, the length worked against it here—there just wasn’t enough room to lay the groundwork in a way that allowed the twists to be more subtle and genuinely surprising. Regardless of the reason, while this was an okay read for me, it isn’t one I see myself returning to.

As I was typing this up on my tablet, I remembered that I’ve heard great things about Nine Lives, so maybe I’ll give that one a try in the coming year. Hopefully, I’ll enjoy it as much as I did Eight Perfect Murders.

Challenges: Yuletide Spirit 

Hold My Hand, It's Christmas by K.C. Wells

Synopsis From Goodreads:

Best. Pickup line. Ever.

Eli Winters wasn’t expecting romance to strike between aisles of lumber and LED reindeer. He’s just home for the Thanksgiving weekend, helping his sister with her bakery and trying not to drown in the town’s over-the-top Christmas cheer. Then, in Home Depot’s lighting section, a handsome stranger grabs his hand and says, “My ex just walked in—please, play along.”

Before Eli can protest, they’re strolling past garlands and wreaths like the world’s most domestic couple. It’s not until the stranger disappears that Eli realizes: there was no ex. Just the most ridiculous—and effective—pickup line ever.

Noah Carter didn’t plan to lie. He’s the town’s perpetually cheerful event coordinator, always smiling, always “fine.” But the truth is, the holidays have felt hollow for a long time. One impulsive moment in a hardware store changes everything.

When Eli’s sister ‘volunteers’ him to help Noah organize the Christmas Festival, sparks turn into something deeper. Amid tangled lights, late-night cocoa, and small-town gossip, Eli and Noah discover that sometimes the best love stories start with a little pretending.

Because when it’s Christmas—and your heart’s finally ready—you don’t just hold someone’s hand.

You hold on.

If Look Up, Handsome was a low-angst romance, Hold My Hand, It’s Christmas has about as much angst as a perfectly prepared picnic—one you didn’t have to plan—in the most idyllic location your imagination can come up with. You’re there with the man/woman of your dreams, and they are everything you ever hoped they’d be. There is absolutely no tension, miscommunication, or misunderstandings between Eli and Noah. They both experience a little self-doubt, but I don’t think there’s a single human being alive who doesn’t have a twinge or two of self-doubt when first meeting someone. I refuse to call that angst, especially since neither of them lets it keep the completely besotted looks off their faces when they glance at each other. This is the most angst-free romance book I’ve ever read, and because it’s a Christmas book, I’m absolutely here for it.

This was instalove on steroids, a trope that—when done wrong—can leave you with incredulous thoughts floating through your mind as you read the most ridiculous nonsense ever put on paper. But when done right, when written by an author who knows exactly what they’re doing, it feels like a perfect spring day, lying on the fluffiest blanket ever woven, stretched out beneath an old apple tree. The branches form a canopy that blocks just the right amount of sunshine as you stare up at puffy white clouds, picking out the ones that look like bunny rabbits and puppies. In other words, when instalove is written right, it leaves you with the happiest feeling in the world, and you buy into every single word and glance the two MCs exchange. Hold My Hand, It’s Christmas is a perfect example of this, a story that leaves you believing in love at first sight, soul mates, and the magic of Christmas.

Challenges: Yuletide Spirit 

Look Up, Handsome by Jack Strange

Synopsis From Goodreads:

Quinn wants to save his bookshop, the last thing he needs is to fall in love…

Hay-on-Wye’s only queer bookshop is always a hive of activity. So when it’s threatened with closure, its owner Quinn Oxford is determined to do whatever it takes to save his beloved shop.

That is until romantic novelist Noah Sage arrives in town. Gorgeous, brooding and clearly unhappy to be there, Noah is the distraction Quinn doesn’t need. Noah has a history with Hay and it’s one he’d rather not face. But when the snow leaves him stranded, he’s left with no choice.

Hay is a small town, meaning Quinn can’t help but bump into Noah wherever he goes. And as the two grow closer together, is it possible that Noah’s feelings towards Hay will thaw? Can Quinn have a real-life romance and save his beloved bookshop? Or will he need a Christmas miracle…

When I signed up for the Yuletide Spirit reading challenge, I bought a whole stack of Christmas mysteries and a ghost story anthology, and I haven’t read a single one of them. Instead, I’ve been reading Christmas romances and binging a truly impressive number of Hallmark-ish holiday movies. Apparently my brain had one plan, but my heart (or soul) needed something else entirely this holiday season.

There’s a blurb on the cover of Look Up, Handsome that calls the book a love letter to bookstores, and it’s the most accurate blurb I’ve ever read. Kings & Queens is the type of bookstore I’ve always wanted to own myself — except mine would be full of mysteries and ghost stories, with a huge queer section. It’s the kind of place where you could spend hours wandering the shelves before settling into a chair and getting lost in an author’s world. More importantly, it’s the kind of bookstore that builds community.

It’s the place a parent struggling to understand their child’s sexuality or changing gender identity can go to find answers — and people willing to listen. It’s where someone questioning their own sexuality might find guidance and insight into what they’re feeling, hopefully leading to self-acceptance. It’s a gathering place for anyone who needs to find their people, their tribe, somewhere they can feel welcomed and protected. It’s the kind of place every LGBTQ+ person needs in their life, even in this age of social media.

After writing that last paragraph, I'm not sure where to go next with this review. I can't find a smooth transition, especially after typing and retyping a few sentences that never felt worthy — or even necessary — to what I was trying to say. I’m not ashamed to admit I feel a little lost.

So let’s do this instead: I’ll simply say that I adored this book for exactly what it is.

It’s a low-angst romance between two people who, despite living in a world of words, don’t communicate particularly well at first. Quinn, who opened his bookstore in memory of his father, has been a little lost since his dad died. He loves the world he’s built for himself, but he’s also been living his life somewhat passively. Noah, on the other hand, despite his success as a gay romance author, has allowed the past to dictate the terms of his life. So consumed by what happened to his family when he was a child, he’s chosen extreme avoidance as a coping mechanism.

I’m not saying they aren’t fully realized characters — because they absolutely are — and I loved them both, even if I liked Quinn just a tiny bit more. I enjoyed them as individuals, but I absolutely adored them as a couple.

I have one more Christmas romance review left to write for the challenge, which still leaves me one book short of my five-book goal unless I manage to squeeze one more in. Either way, I still have a respectable stack of seasonal mysteries waiting for next year. Assuming, of course, I don’t get to them before then.

Challenges: Yuletide Spirit 

The Handsel Witches by Ryan J Hamshaw

 

Synopsis From Goodreads:

Four months after the defeat of the Dark Friars, Liam O'Connor is finally finding some balance in life. He's juggling college, his friends, and his role as a Keeper of the Crossing. But that balance is about to break, and his friends’ safety is on the line.

Tariq Ashar is trying to make his new relationship with Liam work while dealing with old secrets tied to Lucas Martindale, the obnoxious and unpredictable grandson of the Head of the Guild. When Lucas’ troubled past comes back to haunt him, it pulls Tariq and Liam into danger, putting everything at risk.

Meanwhile, a new enemy is rising in Sarumbourne, driven by anger and revenge. As darkness spreads through the city, the Keepers must fight to protect it - or lose what they’ve sworn to defend.

Do you have those books that, no matter the genre, become comfort reads almost immediately? The kind where, a paragraph or two in, you know you’re safe. You can set the rest of the world aside and just sink into the story as the words unfold on the page. I have far too many of those to list, but to give you an idea, they include The Last Herald Mage trilogy by Mercedes Lackey, And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie, and the A Matter of Time series by Mary Calmes—along with, honestly, most of her books. I’m also pretty sure the Keepers of the Crossing series by Ryan J Hamshaw has officially joined that group.

I’m not ready to say I’m a full-on YA reader yet, but I might be getting there. Or at least I’m becoming a fan of a very specific flavor of YA: a little dark, a little queer, and a whole lot of fun. I don’t know why it still surprises me how good some YA authors are at building immersive worlds and filling them with characters I don’t just enjoy reading about, but actually come to care about. That happened to me years ago with Rotters by Daniel Kraus, and again earlier this year with The Taking of Jake Livingston by Ryan Douglass (a review I swear I’ll write eventually). Both pulled me into worlds I never wanted to leave. The world Ryan J. Hamshaw has created in the Keepers of the Crossing series fits right in with those.

What really surprised me was how The Dark Friars pulled me in… and then The Handsel Witches went and did it all over again. I honestly think I enjoyed this second book even more than the first. The stakes are higher this time around, especially when it comes to the people Liam loves most. The action is more intense, and the vampire fight alone is worth every moment spent in this version of Sarumbourne. 

But as much as I enjoyed the story itself, that’s not the reason I know I’ll be rereading this series for years. That credit goes to Liam, Tariq, Jack, Lily, and the rest of the cast (including Lucas). These are characters the author clearly loves, and that affection comes through on the page. There’s an intentionality to how they’re written that makes this series feel like a comfort read, even when things get dark. They’re flawed, insecure, hopeful, and constantly growing into themselves—and I’m more than happy to keep spending time with them as they do.

The Nightmare Before Kissmas by Sara Raasch

 

Synopsis From Back Cover:

Nicholas “Coal” Claus used to love Christmas. Until his father, the reigning Santa, turned the holiday into a PR façade. Coal will do anything to escape the spectacle, including getting tangled in a drunken, supremely hot make- out session with a beautiful man behind a seedy bar one night.

But the heir to Christmas is soon commanded to do his duty: he will marry his best friend, Iris, the Easter Princess and his brother’s not-so-secret crush. A situation that has disaster written all over it.

Things go from bad to worse when a rival arrives to challenge Coal for the princess’s hand…and Coal comes face-to-face with his mysterious behind-the-bar hottie: Hex, the Prince of Halloween.

It’s a fake competition between two holiday princes who can’t keep their hands off each other over a marriage of convenience that no one wants. And it all leads to one of the sweetest, sexiest, messiest, most delightfully unforgettable love stories of the year.

Most of my romance reading happens on my tablet. At first, that was because I was slightly embarrassed to be seen in public reading a romance novel, and hiding a cover is infinitely easier when the book is digital. The only other solution I could think of was creating false dust jackets for physical books, and honestly, I’m just not that crafty. These days, it’s mostly practical: Kindle Unlimited makes my romance reading a hell of a lot cheaper. I do still buy physical copies occasionally, but it’s usually my favorite Mary Calmes books — the ones that, for whatever reason, feel like they belong both on my shelves and on my tablet.

The Nightmare Before Kissmas is one of the very rare exceptions I’ve made to those unspoken rules. Last December, while browsing Barnes & Noble, I wandered past the romance table — something I always do, even though it’s almost entirely straight romances. Every now and then, though, there will be one or two gay romance titles mixed in, and that December, The Nightmare Before Kissmas was one of them. Without any real conscious decision-making, my hands reached out, and before I fully processed what was happening, I was at the counter paying for it. And then it sat on my shelf for a full year, patiently waiting to be read.

I knew going in that it would be cute. I mean, it’s the Crown Prince of Christmas falling for the Crown Prince of Halloween — the cuteness is baked right into the premise. What I wasn’t expecting were the political machinations underpinning the story, particularly a Santa so consumed by grief and anger that his own children become pawns in a larger power struggle. I also wasn’t expecting to be just as invested in that surrounding story as I was in the romance itself. And the romance, for lack of a better word, was absolutely adorable.

Coal and Hex aren’t exactly champions of communication, but given their roles within their respective holidays and the immense familial expectations placed on them, that feels not just believable but inevitable. They’re clearly right for each other, and it’s impossible not to root for them as they try to carve out space for themselves beyond what duty demands. Since the story is told entirely from Coal’s perspective, we only see the relationship through his eyes, but he’s refreshingly honest about his own flaws — particularly his rebellious streak, which has caused more than a little chaos in the past. Over the course of the book, Coal does a great deal of growing up, driven partly by his relationship with Hex, but mostly by his desire to repair the damage his father has inflicted on Christmas and the other winter holidays.

I absolutely adored Coal and Hex, and while I know they’ll appear again in later books, I’m already sad to leave them behind as the main protagonists — especially Coal. Not someone I’ll admit to developing a crush on, but definitely someone for whom I gained a tremendous amount of respect.

Challenges: Yuletide Spirit